Chapter Nineteen
Penelope
I looked over at Dristan as I walked next to him into the elevator. I was typing furiously on my phone, distracted, but guilt crept into every movement. Disappointment was apparent in his posture and the way he was avoiding my gaze when I peeked at him.
As soon as we stepped out of the elevators, I hurried to my bedroom to call the bank and my mother. The bank was the first call.
“Good evening—” the cheerful voice started, but I didn’t let them finish.
“Mr. Raynard, please,” I blurted and there was a pause on the other end before an overly-polite,
“One moment, please,” was followed by ringing.
I chewed on my lower lip, pinching it between my fingers as I did. My lower lip was the most likely body part to be abused when I was stressed. My mother tsked at me all the time because of it. As soon as there was a click on the other end of the line, I rushed ahead.
“Mr. Raynard, sir. Thanks so much for taking my call. This is Penelope. We spoke earlier about the payments I wanted to make. I transferred the first one a few minutes ago. Can you check, please?”
There was no response on the other end, but I heard a masculine sigh of annoyance before the clicking of what could only be a computer. Several beats passed before the sigh sounded again.
“I do see a payment here, yes,” the bank manager drawled. “But you understand that this isn’t going to be enough—”
“But it’s going to be the same amount every month for the foreseeable future, sir,” I interrupted him to say. “And there won’t be any more slips in payment from now on, I assure you.”
“This barely covers what you already owe,” he responded, heaving another put-out sigh. I was beginning to think the manager had a flare for the dramatics. Our previous conversation had been filled with much of the same. My parents were the ones who usually dealt with him, so I hadn’t known what to expect. I can’t say I envied them one little bit.
“Yes, sir, but as you can tell, with these payments, I can have that covered in three months and then we can continue forward with the standard mortgage payments easily. I’ll even be able to make injections toward paying it off faster. Please, just give us this chance.” I promised myself that one day I’d never have to beg ever again. Humiliation washed over me along with the burgeoning hope that I could finally see my family’s way out of debt.
Another heavy sigh made its way across the line. “You see, as I mentioned before, we already have a buyer for the home. And with the way you’ve missed payments, we don’t have a guarantee that you’ll continue to pay on time. We’ve been burned in the past with your parents,” he explained and I flinched at the implication.
“Yes, I understand that there were some issues in the past, but now that the loan’s been transferred to me, I promise that I’ll be able to make the payments. I have a new job that will completely cover the payments and there won’t be any more issues, I swear,” I pleaded. “The buyer who wants our place is a developer and they’d be able to pay for the whole thing without question, I get it. But this is our home.” I couldn’t stop the sob from coming through on my last word.
The male on the other end paused a few beats before giving another dramatic sigh—but this one was less condescending. “Okay,” he groaned. “Fine. I’m giving you three months. But only three months. I want all of the missed payments covered plus the payments for those three months, do you understand me?”
Hope was filling my heart faster than I ever thought it could. A tear leaked past my eyes and I gasped out a few yeses and thank yous before he rushed me off the phone. I sat on the bed heavily, covering my face with my palms before swiping the tears away and trying to sniffle until I no longer sounded like I was dying. Clearing my throat, I grinned as I called my mother. She answered on the second ring.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice filled with trepidation. “Did you get a chance to call the bank?”
“I did,” I laughed. “And I got an advance on my salary too. Mom, I paid off most of what we owed and the bank is giving us another chance.”
The whoop of joy was music to my ears. She screamed for my father, and he responded immediately, rushing over to hear what the commotion was about. I listened with a grin as she told him the great news. They celebrated with me for a few unfettered moments of joy before settling in for the full story.
I gave them every detail, and fell back on my bed with relief.
“I can’t thank your boss enough, sweetheart,” my mom sobbed. “He’s so generous. He barely knows you and he was willing to do this for you.”
“I know,” I agreed, squeezing my palm against my chest—where my heart was. “I shouldn’t have judged him so quickly. This was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Well you work your ass off, then, honey,” my father called. “And make sure you earn your keep.”
I was still beaming at the ceiling as I answered, “I will.”
A few more minutes of relieved chatting filled the empty space before my parents wished me a good night and hung up. I was humming a happy tune to myself when I realized that I hadn’t even made anything for dinner.
Fionel had informed me that the chef was being reallocated to Rudgar since Dristan was no longer happy with the meals he was preparing. I’d made a quick sandwich for us for lunch, but I’d been hoping to wow him with my culinary skills for dinner.
Especially after he’d done me such a huge favor. The reminder of his expression when he had given me the advance sent a pang through my chest again. I wasn’t sure why he’d been disappointed, but I wanted to find out.
Maybe he thought that since we were getting closer, I would have confided in him—but that couldn’t be right. We were still employer and employee.
Not that any employee has the right to think of the boss the way you do.
I tried to shut up the annoying voice in my head, but she was right. I’d been trying to draw lines between myself and Dristan, but none of them seemed to be sticking on my end. Biting my lip, I snuck out into the living area and found that Dristan wasn’t there. He was probably either in his study or taking a shower.
Trying to shake off the image that sprouted into my head of Dristan naked under the spray of water—his hair slicked back and his muscles, that I’d only ever imagined, flexing under the droplets—I hurried to the kitchen. I began gathering ingredients and prepping, peeking toward the doors of the study and the hallway to the bedrooms in case I could hear him coming.
By the time the barely-seared steak was done and resting, next to a bed of baby potatoes and green beans, he still hadn’t emerged. If he waited too long, his food would go cold.
I made my way over to the study first, knocking on the door, but there was no response. I went to his bedroom next, hesitating for a long moment before rapping my knuckles against the wood.
“What?” his gruff response came through the thick oak.
“I made dinner,” I called, nerves wracking me until I felt sick to my stomach. There was silence on the other side of the door until I heard the click of the handle. Stepping back, I watched as he lounged in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, and he stayed where he was. His jacket was off, his crisp shirt molding lovingly to the muscles in his arm and chest as he braced his forearm against the doorway.
“I wanted to apologize, Dristan,” I told him in a rush. “I should have asked you from the start. I know that you’re a good male.” I swallowed hard, holding my hand out to him. “Can I wave my white flag with a steak?”
He narrowed his eyes but reached out, snagging my palm in his. “What kind of steak?”
“ Raw steak,” I said with a grin, my stomach quivering with nerves and arousal when he didn’t release my hand.
He grunted his approval, heading toward the kitchen with me in tow.